fact. Both Halliday's creatures."
"Do you have any hard proof of this?" LaValle said blandly.
The Old Man was fully prepared for this question. "You already know the answer to that. But I have enough to start an investigation. Unexplained deposits in Mueller's bank account, a Lamborghini that Lerner couldn't possibly afford, trips to Las Vegas where both dropped bundles of cash. Arrogance begets stupidity; it's an axiom old as time." He took back the sheet of paper. "I assure you that once the investigation gets to the Senate, the net that'll be thrown out will catch not only Halliday but those close to him."
He folded his arms. "Frankly, I don't fancy a scandal of this grave a scope. It would only help our enemies abroad." He lifted a prawn. "But this time, the secretary's gone too far. He believes he can do anything he wants, even sanctioning a murder using our government's men."
He paused here to let these words sink in. As the intelligence czar's eyes rose to meet his, the Old Man said, "Here is where I make my stand. I cannot condone such a recklessly unlawful act. Neither, I think, can you."
Muta ibn Aziz sat brooding, watching the sky outside the jet's Perspex window glowing blue-black. Below him was the unruffled skin of the Caspian Sea, obscured now and again by streaks of clouds the color of a gull's wing.
He inhabited a dark corner of Dujja, performing the demeaning task of messenger boy, while his brother basked in the limelight of Fadi's favor. And all because of that one moment in Odessa, the lie they had told Fadi and Karim that Abbud had forbidden him to correct. Abbud had said he must keep quiet for Fadi's sake, but now, when Muta looked at the situation from a distance, he realized that this was yet another lie perpetrated by his brother. Abbud insisted on hiding the truth about Sarah ibn Ashef's death for his own sake, for the consolidation of his own power within Dujja.
Rousing himself, Muta saw the dark smudge of land coming into view. He glanced at his watch. Right on schedule. Rising, he stretched, hesitating. His thoughts went to the man piloting the jet. He knew this wasn't the real pilot; he'd failed to give the recognition sign when he'd emerged from the woods. Who was he then? A CI agent, certainly; Jason Bourne, most probably. But then he had received a cell phone text message three hours ago that Jason Bourne was dead, according to an eyewitness and the electronic tracker, which now resided at the bottom of the Black Sea.
But what if the eyewitness lied? What if Bourne, discovering the tracker, had thrown it into the ocean? Who else could this pilot be but Jason Bourne, the Chameleon?
He went up the central aisle, into the cockpit. The pilot kept his attention focused on the neat rows of dials in front of him.
"We're coming up on Iranian airspace," Muta said. "Here's the code you need to radio in."
Bourne nodded.
Muta stood, his legs spread slightly apart, gazing at the back of the pilot's head. He drew out his Korovin TK.
"Call in the code," he said.
Ignoring him, Bourne continued to fly the plane into Iranian airspace.
Muta ibn Aziz took a step forward, put the muzzle of the Korovin at the base of Bourne's skull.
"Radio in the code immediately."
"Or what?" Bourne said. "You'll shoot me? Do you know how to fly a Sovereign?"
Of course Muta didn't, which was why he'd gotten on board with the impostor. Just then the radio squawked.
An electronically thinned voice said in Farsi, "Salam aleikom. Esmetan chi st?"
Bourne picked up the mike. "Salam aleikom," he responded.
"Esmetan chi st?" the voice said. What is your name?
Muta said, "Are you insane? Give him the code at once."
"Esmetan chi st!" came the voice from the radio. It was no longer a question. "Esmetan chi st!" It was a command.
"Damn you, radio the code!" Muta was shaking with rage and terror. "Otherwise they'll shoot us out of the sky!"
Chapter Thirty-One
BOURNE PUT the Sovereign into such a sudden, steep bank to the left that Muta ibn Aziz was thrown across the cockpit, fetching up hard against the starboard bulkhead. As Muta ibn Aziz struggled to regain his footing, Bourne sent the jet into a dive, simultaneously banking it to the right. Muta ibn Aziz slipped backward, banging his head on the edge of the doorway.
Bourne glanced back. Fadi's messenger was unconscious.
The radar was showing two fighter planes coming up